A Mother's Love
by Moonpumpkin
Summary: "He'd always been a difficult wretch." Walburga Black's feelings regarding her eldest son. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition first round entry.


**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and all its characters**

He had always been a difficult wretch. Even while still in the womb, he had kicked mercilessly, elbowed her in the ribs, and she could have sworn once he had fingernails that he had clawed, desperately trying to escape. But when it came time for him to be brought into the world, he resisted, senselessly drawing out his mother's pain. When he was finally pulled from her, she didn't want to hold him. She didn't even want to see him. She knew she was supposed to feel a rush of maternal love and pride, but instead she was only filled with relief that this ordeal was over and dread over the impending ordeals this child would cause in the years to come.

He only became more insolent as he aged. As a baby, he would scream for hours on end for no reason that she could fathom. She would feed him, rock him, burp him, change him, read to him, or try to put him down for a nap, all for naught. As soon as Orion came home from the ministry she would hand him the child and retreat to the drawing room. Not ten minutes later, the screeching would end and her irritation would double.

As a small child, he seemed to revel in trouble, and the art of escaping from it. He went through a phase at the age of seven in which he would break ornate and expensive vases around the house. He knocked over the urn containing her mother's ashes without blinking an eye. Orion tried to convince her that he hadn't known, but she knew better; he had done it on purpose. Whatever she told him, he would instinctively do the opposite, just to push the boundaries. More than once she raised a hand to him, hoping that corporal punishment would deter him. It had for her when she was a child. It did for Regulus. But it never put him off for long. Within a day or two he was wreaking havoc again, tearing her life to pieces bit by bit.

She had long prayed for the day that he would leave for school. She suspected that she was more excited than he was when his Hogwarts letter came. He would be out of her hair for the majority of the year. He would be someone else's problem. But she should have known better. When she received the letter from Narcissa explaining that her heir had been sorted into Gryffindor—stupid, brutish Gryffindor—she laughed, head in hands, and the sheer absurdity of it all. It wasn't until Orion came home and asked her what was wrong that she realized her laughter had turned into tears.

The three months of the year that he was home were the most trying, exhausting months of her life. Grimmauld Place was quiet, tranquil during the months of the year when school was in session. But the summers were marked by explosive arguments, clenched fists, red faces, sore throats, and stinging palms. Both Orion and Regulus made themselves sparse whenever the arguments began, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

He was sixteen when he left. The same age she had been when she was first betrothed to Orion Black, heartthrob of Hogwarts, and began dreaming of their perfect marriage, of their perfect family. He had ruined that. The argument had started out much the same, with her imploring that he take his place in the family and him adamantly refusing. It quickly escalated, and when she brought up the importance of family, his eyes flashed and he scoffed, "This is no family. You don't love me. You never even tried."

The next thing she knew, her wand was out and he was on the floor. She would never admit it, but his words stung. She had wanted to love him. He was her son, her firstborn child, her heir. But he hadn't let her. So she had given up.

When she lifted the curse, he slowly picked himself off the floor and staggered up the stairs. Not ten minutes later, he thundered down them again with his trunk and broomstick in tow, announcing that he was leaving and never coming back. She opened the door for him.

She had lost a son that day. She told herself that it was for the best, and that she had another son on which to bestow all the low she had denied the other. Regulus was perfect, everything she had ever wanted. But now he was gone, too.

She still stood over Regulus' grave an hour after the rest of the family had left. She wondered why this had happened. Had it been her fault? What had she done wrong? She had been so young, so naïve when she had mothered her two children. She had not been ready for such a responsibility. Or maybe she had just not expected her life to unfold the way it had.

Behind her, she could hear the scuff of shoes dragging through the leaves of the cemetery. They hesitated for a moment before continuing towards her. She recognized the shuffle immediately. How many times had she scolded him for dragging his feet? When he was close enough, she snapped, "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, mother," he answered lightly. His very voice tensed the muscles in her shoulders and back. Her mouth pulled into a tight line.

Louder, more irritably, she repeated herself. "What are you doing here, Sirius?"

The footsteps stopped beside her, but she refused to look at him. "He was my brother, you know," he drawled sarcastically.

She stared at Regulus' grave hard, freshly dug earth contrasting sharply with the lush grass covering his father's beside his. "You didn't attend your father's funeral," she accused.

She could practically hear him shrug. "Did you really expect me to?" he asked. She didn't answer. There was no point. The two remained in silence, each refusing to acknowledge the other.

Suddenly, overwhelming grief and anger washed over her. She had been told that her son was murdered for trying to back out of the Death Eaters. She didn't know how, but it must have been Sirius' fault. He must have talked Regulus out of it—Regulus had always been easily persuaded. She rounded on her eldest son, looking at him for the first time. He looked like Orion, so much so that it hurt. It only fuelled her fury more. "Get out of here," she spat. "This is all your fault! Your corrupted him with your Gryffindor fantasies. And now he's dead!"

He balked and raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "What?" he growled. "He wouldn't have even joined the Death Eaters if it hadn't been for you!" he cried, an angry flush creeping up his neck.

She shook her head and turned back to the grave of her son and husband. It was cruel, that those she loved had been taken away and that she was left with the one family member she hated. She didn't think she had always hated him—she had been frustrated and angry and disappointed and ashamed to be his mother, but she hadn't hated him. But in that moment, with Orion and Regulus gone and him still alive and causing her grief, she really and truly loathed him. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Just go."

Next to her, he sighed and kicked at the leaves before turning and shuffling away. He stopped behind her a ways back and called out, "I won't come to yours, you know." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.

Smiling grimly to herself, Walburga murmured, "I wouldn't have wanted you to."


End file.
